


nothing fucks with my baby

by chants_de_lune



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Choking Kink, Dropship era, Emori's here because I say so, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kinda, Light Dom/sub, Possessive Bellamy Blake, Protective Bellamy Blake, Safewords, Wells's here and he's pretty great, brief discussion of trigger, minor scene of physical assault, usual crowd makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chants_de_lune/pseuds/chants_de_lune
Summary: “Who did this?” he asked, voice deadly quiet.  “Who did this to you?”She had seen Bellamy ticked, miffed, annoyed, belligerent at times… but now he was something else entirely…. restrained.   Fighting back rage in his clenched jaw, tensed shoulders, and whitened knuckles.“Tell me which one of them put his hands on you.”
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 239





	nothing fucks with my baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohpottermycaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpottermycaptain/gifts).



> Well, it's 2021, and I'm posting BC erotica, let me get into the clown car with safeandsound13 and twilightstargazer. This fic is for Chara, whom I bounced this fic idea off of for fun, and she demanded I finish it. Surprise babe, you get rebel king Bellamy! 
> 
> So like it's mentioned in the tags, there is a small scene where an OC with creep undertones attempts to strangle Clarke. To avoid it, read up until "the background chatter dulled till she could hear crickets in the bushes nearby" and then scroll to the line break. Likewise, if you want to skip the scene where Clarke gets a flashback, read up to the point where Bellamy sees a cardinal in the woods, then skip to the line break. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy reading.

Clarke Griffin had been on the Ground for six months and she had one concrete rule: all visits to the dropship’s medbay must be done by mid-afternoon. 

At first, she had kept her hours open for the entire day. Plenty of their camp had twisted ankles from hiking, sprained wrists from tree climbing, not to mention an abundance of skin allergens. 

Then it became _“Clarke, I have a headache, can I come off shift and lie down for a bit?”_ and _“Clarke, my stomach hurts, can I have a med ration?”_

Nonstop, like bees buzzing around a hive.She felt like a school nurse, and considering the ages of most of her patients, she pretty much was one.

So now, the rules were simple; short of bleeding, fainting, or vomiting, (this list was posted to the medbay door), no one was to disturb her once the sun had passed its peak. 

Dusk was one of her favorite times, when she could be by herself, hiking in the woods without the unforgiving noon heat, basked in golden light as she gathered various herbs.

She used to delegate plant gathering.However, since some of the kids had barely passed Earth Skills, let alone excelled it as she had, they brought back every variety of poison ivy, sumac, oak, stars name it. 

After tossing each leaf and scratching her irritated hands, Clarke simply gathered everything herself.Post-apocalypse Appalachia was a stunning biosphere of flora.It was odd, in the beginning; she couldn’t understand how she was finding aloe vera growing up on scrubby hills.

_“Well, think about it, Clarke,”_ she said to herself, snipping stems with the knife Wells had given her. _“100 years ago, every single woman in her 20s and 30s was growing their own plants.Seeds and spores must have survived the bombs and grown wherever they could take root.”_

Evolution was a crazy thing.

Her foraging took her deep into the woods and often thick into bramble.She was used to parting branches, crawling amongst roots, and feeling the handle of her pistol dig into her spine while in tight spaces.

Oh, right.The pistol was a _necessity_ , apparently. 

___

_“You want go in the woods and gather herbs by yourself, you’re taking this,” Bellamy laid out the pistol and the magazine, reaching for the case of bullets._

_“The Grounders don’t want to kill us anymore, Bellamy.” Clarke said with a slight huff. “I’m pretty sure I gave you that memo?”_

_“Don’t be funny,” he mumbled, demonstrating how he loaded the bullets in with the rounded ends at a slight upward tilt.“Could be an animal, or someone gone rogue. You’re better safe than sorry.”_

_“I know,” she sighed.“I carry a knife, I’m not stupid.”_

_Bellamy huffed. “Knife does no good at long range.Here—“He held up the full magazine and the pistol.“This holds twelve bullets. Slide it in like this —“ he slotted it into the pistol with a definite_ **_click_ ** _— “Release it by pressing this button —“He pressed into a spot on the gun, and the magazine fell out with a_ **_clack_ ** _.He put the magazine back in.“Safety is here —“ he turned a small lever at the base of the barrel.“And you have to pull the slide back to load the chamber before firing.”He snapped it back quickly, making a familiar_ **_shitk-shick_ ** _. He laid the gun sideways on the table, dark eyes bearing into hers._

_“Now practice what I did until you can do it in a blink of an eye.”_

___

The memory passed, but not without Clarke quivering slightly as she reminisced Bellamy’s broad, rough hands assembling and dissembling firearms without fumble or hesitation. 

“Fuck, stop thinking about him,”she said to herself, shaking her head as she filled her pack with rosemary and lemon balm.He didn’t often distract her thoughts — _scratch that_ , she could manage to pass a couple hours without thinking about him, but when she did…. 

_I said stop. I’ve got better things to do than be one of Bellamy Blake’s girls._

It was usually nearing twilight when she returned to camp, her bag filled with nuts, berries, herbs, and plants she couldn’t identify. 

And without fail, as he had done for countless evenings now, Bellamy met Clarke at the campfire and nudged her dimpled chin with the back of his hand, cataloging the daily scrapes on her face.

She remembered when he started doing it — she had gotten a particularly thorny scratch from a bush, Monty had to help her create a soothing paste for it — but she isn’t sure _why_ he’s compelled to do it, especially when some days, she only has a few flecks of dirt that evaded her rinse at the stream.

As far as she can recall, he doesn’t do it to _anyone else_.That particular touch, that is. 

Bellamy’s a fairly tactile person, constantly clapping Miller on the shoulder, hugging Octavia, or patting one of the preteen thieves (affectionately nicknamed “The Little Ones”) on the head. 

It’s not an uncomfortable touch, either, what he does to her.Sometimes she thinks Bellamy isn’t even aware of the way the flats of his knuckles gently brush her cheek.As the pattern continued, however, she figured this gesture was just part of his routine, making sure the camp was safe and secure for the night.

_She feels flattered that she’s included in this nocturnal ritual of his._

* * *

The night that changed everything, Clarke had trekked back into camp and found a party underway. 

Quickly dropping her pack of rose hips and peppermint in medbay, she crossed the main area to find Jasper hunched over the still.

“Did Wells or Bellamy sign off on this?” she asked, eyebrow raised.“Because I didn’t.”

Jasper shook his head.“Bellamy gave me a shrug, so I figured we could go ahead.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes.“That’s hardly a go-ahead.”

“Here,” Jasper thrust a cup into her hand.“Monty and I soaked some blackberries in our moonshine and they totally dissolved.”

“Yes, because it’s _rocket fuel._ ”

“No, no no,” Jasper tilted the rim of the cup.“Now it’s pink and it’s sweet.Try it!”

Intrigued, Clarke took a sip.It certainly was tangy, with just a hint of harshness to remind the drinker of its potency.

“Very well,” she handed it back to Jasper.“Do not trash my camp.”

“Aye aye ma’am,” he saluted her and turned back to the still.

Clarke sighed, rolling back her sleeves as she sauntered to the log bench by the campfire.She could stand guard tonight, make sure the little ones weren’t retching because they were bold enough to stomach Monty’s new recipe. 

She heard a few heavy footsteps and looked over her shoulder.

“Hey, have some fun tonight,” Wells said, smiling.“I can keep an eye on things.”

Clarke raised a brow again.“Do I look like I need fun?”

Wells chuckled.“Since you had to ask, yes.C’mon Clarke, you’ve gone out to the woods for weeks.”

“I want to collect as much as I can before autumn ends,” she countered.He patted her shoulder.

“And you’ve been doing great.Take a night off.”

Clarke sighed. “Okay, only on your orders, Chancellor.”She gave him a cocky salute, and his laugh rang out in the camp’s chatter.

A crackly static filled the air before it tuned into music.Raven must have gotten their satellite radio tapped into a popular Ark channel.Cheers echoed into the trees.

Clarke sighed, ducking into her tent to change into softer shoes and a more comfortable tank top.Her pistol went to its usual hiding place beneath her pillow.She fluffed her hair and tucked the bangs behind her ears.

Clarke Griffin had a party girl side.Might as well freshen up and show it off. 

When she returned to the still, Monty was manning it.His face lit up as he poured her a cup. 

“Welcome to the party, Princess,” he said.Clarke smiled wryly, thanking him as she took a hearty sip of the sweet liquor.It burned only slightly, settling warm in her stomach.

She strode towards a bench where Harper was sitting with one of the newest members of the Dropship.

___

_It had been a few weeks after the TriKru peace treaty that a teenage girl was found half a mile from camp, passed out from exhaustion.With a curving tattoo on her cheekbone and a disfigured hand, she was unlike any Grounder they had seen before._

_Clarke and Bellamy had gotten a stretcher and brought her to the top floor of the dropship, where she rested and hydrated.As she came back to her senses, she pointed to herself and murmured, “Emori.”_

_Her English was limited.Bellamy visited her frequently, garnering what information he could while Clarke checked her pulse and wounds.Emori was an outsider, rejected from the surrounding clans because of her malformed hand._

_Bellamy looked to Clarke, then his eyes flitted to Wells in the corner.“We have room for one more, right?”_

_Three unanimous nods, and Emori was given a tent midway between the dropship and campfire.Shy at first, she grew accustomed to the older delinquents.And surprisingly, she had a positive effect on Murphy, who cleaned up his act as they grew closer._

_ ____ _

Clarke smiled at Emori as they listened to Harper’s Skybox gossip, which never seemed to run dry.Monroe and Fox joined the cluster, and Clarke held up one index finger to little Fox, who was grinning with a cup of blackberry moonshine. A quick glance at Monroe confirmed that they would keep an eye on the little one, and Clarke let her shoulders drop, relieved. 

The radio switched to a thumping tempo underneath a novadisco rhythm, and a whoop went through the crowd. Fox and Monroe leapt to their feet and Harper followed, tugging a curious Emori behind her. 

Clarke smiled, downing the last of her first cup and heading to the still to refill it. 

Once the second drink had sent liquid glee surging through her veins, she tossed her head back and lip-synced to the songs.It was replaced by a more obnoxious one, so she filled her cup once more and joined Sterling in a game of flip-cup.

If she had one review for Monty and Jasper’s blackberry moonshine, it was dangerously too good. After three drinks on a mostly empty stomach, Clarke felt dizziness swirling from the tip of her head to her toes.

She excused herself after the first match for some air.Her footsteps took her towards her tent, instincts telling her to lay down and let the tipsy hiccups subside. 

But a couple figures blocked her path up ahead.Clarke squinted through the campfire haze and realized it was Bellamy with Bree.

The lithe girl had his jacket fisted in her hands as she pressed kisses to his throat, her body bending into his.Bellamy was stiff in her grasp, face arched back as if resisting her touch, or letting her mark him with her teeth. 

Clarke’s lively mood soured at the sight, and her stomach twisted with a new feeling; not jealousy, but envy.Bellamy’s eyes found hers and his expression dropped almost instantly; the apathy in his eyes became … guilt?

Clarke gave him a casual wave and veered onto a new path.She was too inebriated to interfere, and he seemed sober enough to handle himself, she hadn’t seen him with a cup all night.

_Good for Bellamy, good for him hooking up not even fifty feet from my tent._

She wished that she hadn’t left her empty cup at the game table. 

The party had spread sparsely to the woods surrounding the dropship, as people sought privacy for relieving themselves, venting alcoholic excess, and in some sordid cases, engaging in sexual trysts.Clarke rolled her eyes at the various noises around her, stumbling as she searched for a tree to lean on.

She exhaled, tilting her head back against the bark as the fuzziness subsided.A cool breeze lifted the ends of her hair.Content to linger, she slouched against the tree, hands in her pockets.The background chatter dulled till she could hear crickets in the bushes nearby.

A while later, the loud crunching of leaves and twigs drew her attention.A boy’s face came into view; the light was dim, but she recognized him as Fisher.He was a bit of a loner, occasionally grouped with a few other slightly unsavory characters on the edges of camp.He had all of Murphy’s reprehensible qualities and none of the sarcastic charm, or new leaf of decency. 

His gaze found hers and he grinned unsettlingly, brazenly making a show of zipping up his pants. 

“Well, hi there, Griffin. I thought I recognized that hair.”

Clarke grimaced, her stomach churning from the booze, or maybe from his blunt forwardness.

“Hello, Fisher.”

“Didn’t expect to find you out here,” he drawled, taking another step closer. “Thought you’d stay in tonight.” 

Clarke sidestepped, but found that he was advancing on her at an angle that left her cornered in a dense copse of trees. _Shit._

_“_ Just taking a break,” she shrugged, straining to keep her face neutral.Fisher looked around; the sounds of the other partygoers had faded far into the distance.

“Pretty quiet, just the two of us,” he said.Clarke gave a derisive scoff, angling away from him to hopefully send a clear message.Message unreceived, or rather ignored, Fisher was nearly close enough to put his hand against the tree. 

“You look like you could use a good time,” he leered.Clarke shook her head.

“Not with you, buddy.”

The loopy smile evaporated off his face.

“Really? You gotta say no that quickly?” His voice dropped into a sinister tone.He took another step closer, Clarke took another step to the side. 

“Sorry Fisher, you’re not my type.”

He eyed her cruelly.“Fucking Alpha Station bitch, think you’re better than all of us.” 

In retrospect, Clarke should’ve taken that moment to run.But she froze for just a second, her mind pulling a memory from weeks ago, of Bellamy shaking his head about radio interference from the Ark and muttering _“Alpha station, what can you expect…”_

Fisher’s hurtful words ricocheted in her head, but this time coming from _Bellamy_.Had that been what her co-leader had thought of her, all those months ago?

Warning bells went off in her head; Fisher was close enough for her to smell his fetid breath.

“No, just stop—“she held up her hand and lunged to the side for her escape, but Fisher was quicker.His cold hand grabbed her neck and pinned her to the tree.A rush jolted like adrenaline down her spine, but before Clarke could fully process that response, his other clammy hand came up to squeeze her neck, and **_fuck-wrong-stop-badtouch-can’tbreathe—_**

“You stay still, _Princess_ ,” he hissed in her ear.Tears pricked as the cruel nickname hit her skin.Clarke wheezed, trying to pry his fingers off her throat. He was strangling her.This motherfucker had the _audacity_ …

Miraculous self-preservation kicked in; as his fingertips tautened, Clarke inhaled scant oxygen and let her hands drop from his wrists.She patted her pocket, and there was the sensation of something hard, narrow, solid. 

_Thank you, Wells._

Taking one last broken gasp, she reached for her knife and brandished it, slashing the blade at Fisher’s arm.He yelped, breaking his hold, and she braced herself against the tree to aim a solid kick at his groin.He went down to his knees, and Clarke took off at a sprint. 

His pitched curses rang in her ears and she darted and ducked behind trees; her knowledge of the terrain guided her through a path that was light for her but hopefully cumbersome for her pursuer. 

Faster, _faster._

* * *

The gates of the dropship camp never looked more inviting as she made a final dash inside. 

Adrenaline was still coursing in her veins as she dove behind a tent, catching her breath. She cupped a hand over her mouth as raw coughs came up from her staved lungs. The silhouettes of two people danced against the red canvas fabric, and though the lovers’ giggles may have hidden her, Clarke needed somewhere safer, out of the open. 

She ran through her options:Bellamy — probably sleeping with Bree at the moment, Wells — probably asleep with Raven right now if not still monitoring the party,Monty — at the still with Jasper, Harper — helping a wobbling Monroe to their tent. 

She shut her eyes for a moment and sighed.Her tent was less than a hundred feet away, she could make it.Inhaling deeply, she rolled up and ran around the tents, opting for stealth over speed.

Clarke was shaking by the time she stumbled into her tent, knocking her sketchbook off the small box it had laid on.The commotion brought her attention to the contentsof the box, hidden beneath a cloth.Her ammunition allotment.

Her breathing hitched, fear painting a picture of Fisher storming into her tent.She scrambled for the pistol underneath her pillow.She checked the magazine, cursing that she had forgotten to refill it after hunting with Finn and Wells.

Her hands fumbled the tiny packet of bullets as she loaded them into the magazine. Her knuckle twinged from the repetitive motion. The skin on her thumb broke as metal dug into the corner of her nail, but she gritted her teeth and kept slotting the ammunition.Tears made riverbanks on her cheeks, falling like raindrops on her knuckles.

Then a bullet refused to budge; the magazine was full.She slid it into her pistol and held it steady and cocked in her lap. Seconds passed, then minutes.She stared at the tent flap, chanting a prayer under her breath.

_Stay away, stay away._

Her lungs burned from her feverish breaths.Swallowing sent raw pain shooting across her throat.She sank onto her cot, but she remained stiff as a rooted tree.Raucous voices in the distance, but silence nearby.Minutes became hours.Her heart pounded a painful tattoo against her ribs.

_Don’t come near me, leave me alone._

Clarke had no idea when her eyes finally surrendered to sleep, only that she had stayed awake long enough for birdsong to lull her under. 

__ 

Morning light brought her awake with a slight rush of fear, but her tent was empty.She ran a bone-carved comb through her hair and peered out of her tent flap; it was an hour or so past sunrise, none had left their tents yet.

She took her knife and pistol, still in last night’s clothes, laced her boots, and crept to the entrance of the camp, darting through the small gap in the wall.

Her light footsteps took her down a familiar beaten path, towards the stream just a bit more than a quarter mile away from camp. 

The sound of the water rushing ever so softly brought a sense of calm to her heart, as she sank into the grass.She peered over the edge, seeking her reflection in the water.

Combed but bedraggled hair, tired eyes, and then, even in the blurry ripples of the brook, Clarke could see dark, cruel bruises along her neck.

_Shit._

Oval-shaped marks with faded lines extending from them, a near-clear handprint on both sides.Nausea rose in her gut.

_Fuck.Fuck._

She bit her lip, fighting against the rush of painful tears brimming in her eyes.They slid down her face anyway, and she wrapped her arms around herself.Her fingertips crept upward, but the skin on her neck was too tender to the touch.

Hunched over on the edge of the riverside, she released her sobs.Her emotions thrashed in her ribcage; she wanted to kill Fisher, she never wanted to see his face again, she never wanted to see anyone ever again. 

A faint twig snap registered in her peripheral, but Clarke’s tears hadn’t subsided yet.She succumbed to another round of crying, elbows digging into the dirt, then a voice called out.

“Clarke…Clarke, you alright?”

Deep, gravelly, soil of the earth tone in his voice. _Bellamy._

“You’re up early. Checked for you in the dropship, and no one had seen you.”

Relief sank through her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she croaked. She felt him come closer, crouching down a foot away from her at the stream.

“Hey, hey what’s going on, what happened?” he asked, softer, hand raised out as if calming a skittish mare.Clarke took a deep breath and lifted herself to a sitting position, head raised.She swallowed the lump at the back of her mouth, looking at him. 

Bellamy’s eyes fell palpably to her neck, and she felt the shift in the atmosphere as he took in the dark bruises etched on her throat. 

He tilted his head and exhaled a bit-back curse, but it was enough to send a fresh wave of tears down her cheeks.She looked away, burned by the tamer marks visible just above his collar.How different their nights had been. 

Whatever he might have presumed of her preferred sensual antics, it was dismissed quickly by the sheer pain radiating from her fragile frame.

  
“Clarke, hey, hey, _look at me_ ,”Bellamy’s voice was pleading, his hands clenched at his sides.Clarke looked away from the water and trembled at his posture. 

She had seen Bellamy ticked, miffed, annoyed, belligerent at times… but now he was something else entirely…. _restrained_. Fighting back rage in his clenched jaw, tensed shoulders, and whitened knuckles.

“Who did this?” he asked, voice deadly quiet.“Who did this to you?”

Clarke’s lip quivered as she tried to speak.Memories scattered past, sneering prison guards with greedy hands, tight-lipped women who murmured about _time-wasting paperwork_ and _reputations ruined so soon_ and faithless promises.Some girls, some boys too, with shadows forever lingering in their eyes. 

Later events on the ground… Wells nearly bleeding out, unconscious for hours with only a knife marked JM as evidence… an angry crowd screaming for Murphy’s death … a troubled girl throwing herself into the river.

“Tell me which one of them put his hands on you,” Bellamy dropped his tone into a snarl. 

Clarke flinched, her shoulders beginning to visibly shake.He checked himself, murmuring an apology as he inched backward. 

“Clarke…”

“You can’t— We can’t—“ she stuttered, then swallowed.“We can’t have a mob, not again—“

“We won’t, I swear,” Bellamy breathed.“Please, Princess—“

“Don’t,” she said in a startled sob.“He-he called me that.”

Bellamy cursed and dropped his gaze, scrubbing a hand roughly across his face.He placed his other hand on the grass between them, half a step away.Clarke saw the gesture for what it was; comfort freely offered, not demanding.

She took a deep breath and cupped her palm over his knuckles.He put his other hand over hers.His skin was warm, his grasp gentle yet firm.Her boots dragged on the dirt as she shifted closer.Bellamy bowed his head, the fringe of his hair tickling her forehead. 

She shuddered at the calm press of their temples; solid, stable, safe.

She was safe. 

“Please, Clarke,” he prayed.“I’m not gonna let him hurt you again, or anyone else.”

Clarke thought of Fox and the other little ones, and she nodded. 

“Fisher,” she said hoarsely.“Fisher did this to me.”

Bellamy leaned back, giving her a stiff nod as a tick ricocheted in his jaw. Clarke took another watery breath, still clutching his hand.

“He found me outside the camp… I know I should’ve had my gun but—“

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice a sharpened blade.“Don’t make excuses for him.”

Clarke shut her eyes and sighed.“I want to tell you what happened.”

“I know,” he replied, tone softened.“It wasn’t your fault, alright?” 

Clarke nodded hollowly, recounting the sparse details.By the time she had finished, Bellamy’s hands were twitching, his knuckles tapping together in an uneven rhythm. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he muttered.“Fisher was one of the ones on our list.”

Clarke tilted her head.“Your list?” 

Bellamy bit into his lip before meeting her gaze again.“A while ago, Wells and I sat down, and between the two of us, we memorized what everyone down here had been locked up for.“ He sighed.“Most were treason, like you, or petty theft.But some…” he grimaced.“Fisher was in for minor assault.”

Clarke spoke quietly.“You two didn’t think that information was useful to pass on? I’m just the camp medic, I don’t get a say about our safety?”

Bellamy winced, his face falling downcast.“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he rasped. “It was during that fever outbreak, we didn’t wan to burden you.”

Bellamy looked at her throat again, and she noticed a faint glistening in his eyes.He swore under his breath, shaking his head. 

“Last night, I should’ve — I should’ve noticed, I shouldn’t have let—“

“Don’t do that to yourself, Bellamy,”Clarke said, voice edging on toneless. “I saw that you had … company.”

“It’s not like that anymore, I…” he protested, then cut off suddenly.He exhaled, gaze falling to the pistol sitting beside Clarke.

“You remembered it this morning,” he said.She nodded.

“I’ll probably make a holster for it,” she replied. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words drifting in the space between them without a second thought.The praise sent a low flutter through Clarke’s chest.

The faint sounds in the distance caught their attention; the camp had woken up, footsteps, chatter, and the clanking of metal carried through the trees.

Clarke swallowed.“I wish I didn’t have to go back,” she whispered.“I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Pain tugged at the edge of Bellamy’s grim expression.“I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well. You look like you haven’t gotten any sleep.” 

She blew out a breath.“I didn’t. I stayed awake all night, holding that,” she waved a hand at her pistol.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said brusquely. 

“Don’t,” her tone strengthened.“Last thing we need is a coup on our hands.” 

Bellamy exhaled.“Guess you’re right.Regardless, go back to your tent and rest.I’ll handle it.”

The soft command felt like a warm blanket draped across her shoulders. “You should go first,” she said.Bellamy shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you here alone.I’ll walk you round back to the tunnel, then I’ll circle to the front and distract them.”

Clarke swiped a hand over her damp face, smiling ruefully. Overwhelmed by his simple, genuine kindness, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, chin resting on his nape. 

Bellamy froze for a second, then his arms came up around her, pulling Clarke so close that she was more in his lap than on the riverbank. 

The sheer comfort emanating from Bellamy, _strong, warm, safe Bellamy_ , brought the last of Clarke’s tears simmering to the surface. She sobbed softly as he rocked her with ease.

“It’s alright, Clarke, I’m here,”he murmured, rubbling circles across her back.“It’s okay, babe, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” 

Frisson sparked down her spine at the pet name.Her breath hitched as his embrace lingered.Just as with his touches by the campfire, Bellamy didn’t even seem aware of his increasing intimacy with her.

As the word floated past on the breeze, Clarke wished he would say it again, but Bellamy only pulled his arms away and helped her to her feet.

They walked to the edge of the camp, their steps light and surefooted as they ducked through bushes and thickets.They reached the back within minutes, where a small gap lay between a large boulder and the dropship wall.Clarke looked at Bellamy, who had his hands buried in his pockets, posture stiff. 

“Thank you, Bellamy,” she put her hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. He shot her a small, wry smile.“You take care, all right?”

She nodded, and he turned back towards the front gate.She ducked into the crawlspace and crept around some of the still-slumbering tents.

Zipping her tent flap shut felt like a relief. Clarke kicked off her boots and set her pistol within easy reach of her bed.She fell onto the furs with a ragged breath, a headache suddenly pounding in her head. 

Her canteen was full, enough to keep her hydrated for a day. She took a couple sips to soothe her aggravated throat, and then eased into a much-needed sleep.

__ 

With the noon sun burning through the tent and hunger clawing at her stomach, Clarke awoke again, feeling better. 

She ate a handful of nuts and berries before unwrapping one of her rations. 

Technically, dried meat rations were to be saved in the event that a snowstorm drove everyone inside the dropship for warmth, but Clarke didn’t feel like leaving her tent yet. The weight of solid food eased the ache in her stomach.

As she chewed, she checked herself for other scrapes from the incident; aside from small abrasions on her back and a scratch on her leg, her neck seemed to be the worst of the injuries.

“Clarke?”A voice called out, a soft rustle at the entrance to her tent.Even without the familiar voice, the silhouette on the tent canvas was unmistakably Harper. 

Clarke stood up to unzip the flap, quickly shouldering on her jacket.Harper bent to peer in, Emori behind her. Both of them had packs on their hips.

“Can we come in?”

“Of course,” Clarke kicked a rucksack to the side to make room.She sat back on her cot as the girls seated themselves on the strewn canvas floor mats; living on the Ground meant no chairs, and they had accustomed themselves to dirt ages ago.

“Are you doing alright?” asked Harper. 

“I’m fine,”Clarke shrugged, trying to mask her throat with the collar of her jacket. 

Harper grimaced.“Monty’s covering medbay today for you.Bellamy said…” she trailed off, glancing at Emori.Clarke furrowed her brow.

“What did Bellamy say?”

“That you weren’t feeling well,” said Emori, pensive. “But he seemed angry about it.Why would that be?”

Clarke sighed, fingertips massaging the side of her neck.“Got into a fight with someone last night,” she admitted.“Well, a one-sided fight, I guess.”

Harper’s jaw dropped, “Clarke, who would try to hurt you?”

Emori’s expression hardened, hand reaching for the knife strapped to her hip.“Who?”she asked through gritted teeth.Clarke raised her hands to calm them.

“Please, I appreciate it, but it’s better if less people know,” her face fell grim. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Not yet.”

“Bellamy knows, right?” asked Harper. Clarke nodded. 

Emori dropped her hand from her hip. “Good enough for me.I trust him.”

“So do I,” whispered Clarke.Harper’s face softened.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Emori nudged her. “Harper, show her what we brought.” 

“Oh, right,”Harper pulled a couple of small burlap pouches from her pack.“Monty and I have been working on tea blends.This one is chamomile and lavender,” she handed it to Clarke. “We’re not sure how it will steep through the burlap but….”

“And I brought the kettle from the campfire,” said Emori, drawing the rusted yet clean kettle out of her pack and handing it over.Clarke smiled, reaching for the metal cup beside her pallet.

“Thank you, both of you,” she dropped the chamomile bag into her cup and poured in the hot water till the steam tickled her nose.She gave the kettle back to Emori and cupped her palms around the hot drink.

“You don’t have to give us all the details, but take it easy today, alright?”Harper tilted her head beseechingly. Clarke nodded, touched by her friend’s caring, almost maternal tone.

“I should get out and get the honey from that beehive we found,” she said with a slight cough.“But I don’t feel like doing anything today, to be quite honest.”

“Then do nothing today,” Emori smiled. “Nothing wrong with rest when you need it.”

“Jasper volunteered to get the honey from that hive,” said Harper.Clarke groaned, forehead falling into her hand. 

“He’s gonna get so many bee stings…”

“Which I can handle,” Harper said firmly, “drink your tea and get some sleep tonight, okay?Bellamy’s orders.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, waving as they exited her tent.

“ _Bellamy’s orders_ ,” she mockingly murmured to herself, taking a sip of the weak albeit soothing tea. 

As much as it exasperated her, a soft flush spread over Clarke’s cheeks at the thought that Bellamy was doing as much as he could to give her time to heal. 

She finished the tea and polished off the last of her berries.Feeling more at ease than she had in hours, Clarke picked up her strewn boots and put them by the tent flap.She rearranged her furs and other meager belongings till the space seemed new, organized, and … inviting, somehow. 

Without other tasks of more importance, she sharpened her charcoal and traced new patterns in the blank sketchbook from the underground locker.Clarke usually conserved paper by making her pieces smaller, but that evening, she treated herself to a full scene.

She laid in the background of evergreen trees and faraway mountains, then etched boulders closer to the foreground.Ferns and butterflies came next, artfully drawn as if catching the light of a mid-afternoon sun.Clarke drew a figure in the center, a tall silhouette with broad shoulders.As she added the outline of a gun holster to her figure’s hip, she heard a twig snap outside her tent.

Her head perked up; with the twilight sunset illuminating her canvas walls, she saw a boy’s shadow.Clarke’s heart stuttered, her hand reaching for the pistol.

“Hey, Clarke, it’s Sterling, Bellamy sent me by.”

Her chest caved with relief. She scrambled up and tucked the edge of the tent flap to the velcro strip on the frame, keeping it open hands free. 

Sterling crouched to tip his head towards her, cheerful smile on his face.Clarke surreptitiously popped the collar on her jacket; even if her visitors were trustworthy, she wasn’t ready to become the subject of camp speculation anymore than she already was. 

“He wanted to see if I was alright,”she guessed.Sterling nodded.

“Something like that.”

Clarke raised a brow.“And he couldn’t see me himself?”

He shrugged.“It’s a big camp, lots to do.” 

Clarke’s eyes fell to the ground, her head cocking back and forth briefly; she tamped down on the hint of disappointment fluttering somewhere in her sternum. 

“I don’t suppose he told you why I’ve taken the day off,” she said quietly.He shook his head.

“He didn’t say why but …. He seemed pretty upset by it, if you ask me.” 

Fairy wings fluttered in Clarke’s chest again, and she smothered them with a quiet hum.“Well, not that I asked you deliberately… thank you for telling me that.”

“I’m on patrol till midnight. If you want, I can circle back here every round?” 

Clarke had to stifle a laugh at Sterling’s puppy dog eyes; just turned 15 years old, and trying to impress Bellamy and her with his dedication. Her eyes fell to the rifle strapped across his back, and her expression doured; just turned 15 years old, and already a soldier ready for war to happen at any moment.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you for offering.”

He nodded, cheer still lingering in his features.“Good night, Clarke.”

“Night, Sterling.”

As she zipped up her tent, the shadows grew longer and longer till they swallowed up the light from outside.The sun dropped quickly below the horizon as Clarke heard the faint crackling and chatter from the campfire.

She fell back against her pallet; a day slipped away, and she had spoken to only four people? 

“Not as bad as solitary was,” she said to herself.The camp could function without her, but it certainly functioned better when she was with Wells and Bellamy, the third side of their unlikely triumvirate.

With that sentiment in mind, she undressed and braided her hair. Her hands still trembled as the minutes passed, but sleep came gentler to her that night. 

* * *

The next morning brought Clarke a renewed sense of purpose. She dressed in fresh clothes, filled her pack, and put her knife in her pocket. She drained her canteen on her walk across the campfire and refilled it at the cooler. 

A few pair of eyes watched her; Clarke ignored them and strode into medbay.Monty had left her workspace impeccable, as always.

She swallowed against the still-lingering soreness in her throat and set up bandages to be ready when someone inevitable came in with thorn-torn limbs. Within 15 minutes, her first patients started trickling in.

Clarke rolled up her sleeves and when their eyes lingered on her throat, she ignored the silent question in their gazes. 

It was past midday when Clarke had a moment to address the hunger gnawing at her stomach.Right as she was about to leave medbay,Murphy appeared with a bowl in his hand.

“Here, Bellamy wanted me to make sure you didn’t forget to eat.” The aroma of rabbit stew wafted enticingly.Clarke took the bowl and settled in the chair at her worktable.

“Since when do you run errands for Bellamy?” Clarke asked with a smirk, biting her tongue on a meaner goad. Murphy huffed.

“Since he’s been in a foul mood.Shit…”

Her eyes flitted up, and she saw where his gaze had fallen. “Is that why?”

Clarke rolled her shoulders.“One of your old buddies doesn’t take rejection well.”

Murphy slouched against the doorframe, flipping his pocketknife between his fingers.

“You want me to kill him?” he offered.“Cause it sounds like he sucks, and I’d kill that guy if you wanted.”

Clarke chuckled ruefully, taking a bite of the stew.“I’ll tell you what I told Bellamy; no.”

“Ah,” Murphy smirked.“That’s why he’s so moody.”

Clarke scowled.“So you think we should kill people without trial?You seem happy to still be alive.” 

“Oh I am,” he said.“But if it’s who I think it is, he’s certainly had it coming for a while.”

Clarke glared.“Gee, thanks for the warning.” 

Murphy shrugged.“Like anyone listens to the reformed degenerate.”He turned to walk out and looked over his shoulder one last time. “But if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

Clarke nodded.“I won’t, but thank you.” 

Murphy’s departing snicker lingered in the air.

After finishing lunch, Clarke decided to close medbay for the afternoon. Musing about creating a compress for her throat, she went back to her tent for another bag of Harper’s tea.

As she refilled the kettle with hot water from the pot at the campfire, she caught sight of Fisher, yards away at the woodpile. 

Adrenaline pricked across her chest, but she kept her hands steady as she filled her cup and started steeping the teabag. 

Fisher’s face was clear of bruising, his hair unkempt.A small and bloodied rag wrapped around his forearm. 

Clarke narrowed her eyes, peering at his neck. She wouldn’t put it past Bellamy to give Fisher a taste of his own poison.But no marks were visible. She tilted her head to the side and realized that he was stacking the wood with some difficulty, his hands mottled and his chest catching on each inhalation. His steps were shaky, as he wincingly limped on each step; severe pain in both legs evident. 

Thoughts started to connect in Clarke’s head.Then Fisher dropped a piece of wood, and he bent to pick it up.The hem of his shirt rode up to reveal dark, ugly bruising across his back and side.

Her exhale sucked the air from her lungs.Clarke staggered backward, stumbling over her feet as she searched the crowd. 

Bellamy was standing with Miller a ways off, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to his right hand man, nodding every so often.

Clarke clenched her fists to hinder them from shaking as she crossed the grounds.

“Sorry to interrupt, can I speak with you?” she asked.Bellamy’s brows shot up, as if surprised by her presence.He exchanged a look with Miller and let Clarke pull him towards the wall of the dropship.

“Are you alright?” He asked.Clarke nearly laughed.

“Me? I’m fine.But what do you call that?”She pointed over to where Fisher was still working, his limp growing more pronounced. Bellamy shrugged.

“Doesn’t stop him from stacking wood,” he said flippantly. Clarke’s eyes roved over Bellamy; no evidence of a fight on his face, no bloody marks on his knuckles ….Her gaze fell to the hatchet tucked into his belt.The flat edge matched the size of the bruising.

“You didn’t punch him, you used…..fucking stars….”

The mental vision of Bellamy striking her assailant with merciless fury nearly sent Clarke down on her knees, liquid heat spasming between her legs.

“What?” Bellamy’s tone shot down, defensive.“I handled it.” 

“You could’ve broken his ribs,” she hissed.Bellamy glared.

“Believe me, I held back so he wouldn’t need medical attention from you.” He took a step closer to her.“You didn’t want a mob, remember?”

“But making them afraid of you … this can’t be _civil_.”

“I’m being perfectly fucking civil,” his voice dropped low, jaw tilted and clenched.“Now you can run your affairs and delegate your tasks but at the end of every day this is _my camp_ , and I will punish the scumbags as I see fit.”

His oath trailed into a growl, the timbre making Clarke stand straighter, refusing to cower.In a flicker of a moment, she hated everything - hated Fisher, hated Bellamy, hated the flicker of heat simmering in her thighs from Bellamy pulling rank. 

He continued, oblivious to her lusted turmoil. His lips were inches from her ear.“And trust me, when people see him like that and see the fingerprints on your throat, they put two and two together…” He took a breath, then added,“I sent them a message, they’ll stay away from him.”

“Sent them a message?”Clarke shook her head.“Y-you can’t _want_ them to see you as-as this barbarian —“

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe!” Bellamy snapped.A beat passed, their exhales colliding in the minuscule space between them. He looked down, flush in his cheeks, though she was sure her face was redder. 

“Keep you girls safe,” he amended.“And anyone this could happen to.”

“Right,” Clarke nodded. “Things …. weren’t great with this sort of shit in Alpha… which means they were likely handled worse in Factory.”

Bellamy’s eyes go distant for a moment, then he nodded.Heartbeat still wracked with nerves, Clarke’s fingers scrabbled for the sleeve of his jacket before he walked away. 

Bellamy turned back, brow furrowed.“What is it?”

Clarke’s eyes fluttered to the ground, head shaking back and forth. 

“I-I know that we couldn’t have exiled him, not with what he could tell the other Grounders about us, and we can’t kill our own, but…”

He took a step closer.“But what?”

She fought to keep her hands from trembling.“What’s to stop him from stealing a gun and shooting you?”

A few moments, silent stares.

“Don’t worry about that,” Bellamy leaned in close, his head tilted to murmur next to her hair.“I made sure to break both his trigger fingers.”

Then he walked away, and all Clarke could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, rocketing back into her thundering heart, and then flooding south. 

* * *

Her bruises healed.She fell asleep at night, but only with her hand on the pistol underneath the pillow.She walked to medbay every morning, and the sight of Miller standing guard at the door relieved the nervous tension in her hands.

(Medbay had never been guarded before, but now that there’s a rotation, she’d rather it continue.)

She foraged nuts and herbs within eyesight of the camp, far closer than her usual trails.One of the little ones, Fox’s friend Glass, sometimes tagged along, pestering her with questions about the immune system. 

She smiled regardless, enjoying the company.

Bellamy didn’t disappear, at least not entirely.He and Wells pulled her into more camp meetings, though he never discussed anything beyond the essentials. 

He still saw her by the campfire every night, but gone are his light touches.Instead he folded his hands across his chest, gave her a curt nod, and then turned for his tent. 

Clarke tried to tell herself that he’s doing this for her, trying to give her space and time to come to terms with her trauma.And she did, the nights do get easier to handle. 

However, she could not deny how she longed for his touch, how she closed her eyes and ghosted her own fingertips across her face, imagining rougher skin, warmer hands. 

After about a week, realization hit her as she’s watering the small bouquet of lilac which sits in a cup on her table. 

The flowers were from Wells, a day or so after her incident.

She needed to talk to Wells.

Shuffling on her boots, she left her tent and surveyed the grounds quickly, undroppable habit at this point.The camp was normal, people bustling about their tasks, laughing, shouting, the occasional curse as something was dropped on someone’s foot.As good as they could get down here, really.

She found Wells sitting with Monty against the wall of the dropship, and their conversation wrapped just as she approached.

“Hey Clarke,” Wells smiled.“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, settling in the spot where Monty had sat minutes ago.“But you know me, always in need of your sage advice.”

He made an open gesture.“All ears.”

Clarke sighed.“Things are … weird with Bellamy.”

Wells chuckled.“Had a feeling this would be about Bellamy.”

She lowered her voice.“Did you know what he was going to do to Fisher?”

Wells sighed.“Yeah. He talked it through with me beforehand… or rather I stopped him as he was heading to do it.”

Something sharp twisted in Clarke’s stomach.“Did you agree with what he did?”

He nodded slowly.“I think the punishment fit the crime.We can’t banish anyone, not with the enemies beyond our walls.”He exhaled.“And killing our own? We’d have mutiny.”

Clarke bit her lip.“You think Bellamy would’ve killed him if we hadn’t asked him not to?”

Wells made a low noise in his throat.“I think Bellamy would’ve made him disappear, if you’d agreed to it.”

That fear-but-not fear sensation tingled in Clarke’s spine. “He’s different around me now.He probably thinks I’m made of glass.”

Wells let out a gruff laugh.“I thought you two were sleeping together, to be honest.”

Her head turned so fast she felt a crick in her neck.“What?”

Wells raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you talking about that little cheek tap he used to give you by the campfire?”

Clarke felt redness rush to her cheeks.“People noticed that, huh?”

Wells smirked.“I’ve heard whispers.Griffin, he’s into you.”

“He’s not.”

“Aren’t you into him?” Wells looked at her. Clarke’s tongue tripped up as she attempted a denial, and her best friend’s laughter shook the bushes nearby.

“Take my sage advice and go talk to him, okay?”He patted her shoulder affectionately.Clarke sighed, nodding as she stood up. Her eyes flickered to the sunset filtering through the leaves.

“Do I go right now? He probably has company.” 

Wells snorted.“Trust me, he won’t.”

She let out an exasperated breath, waved good night, then turned her boots towards Bellamy’s tent.

As Wells had affirmed, no conversation was audible as Clarke approached. 

Nonetheless, she called out, “Bellamy? Are you free?”

Barely a beat passed.

“Come in, Clarke.”

She unzipped the tent flap and stepped out of her shoes.Bellamy’s tent would’ve been the same size as everyone else’s had he not jury-rigged the canvas from a torn tent to extend the width. 

Bellamy was sitting upright at the rough headboard he had hewed from a dead fallen tree.He held a pocket knife in one hand and in the other, a half-carven piece of wood. 

His bed seemed massive in comparison to hers, and Clarke fought to keep her eyes narrowed as she settled on the edge of the pallet.There were no chairs, and he was too high up for her to settle on the floor and feel as though they were eye level.This was fine.

This was _fine._

“Well?” He asked, eyes still fixed on the carving. “Needed to see me so late?”

“Uh, yeah.” Clarke cleared her throat, staring at the floor. “You’ve been…, you’ve been a bit…”

She looked up at him and found her eyes reflected in his gaze, one of his dark eyebrows sharply raised.She fisted her hands and took a breath.

“You don’t touch me like you used to.By the campfire every night, I mean,” she said, nerves buzzing into a racket under her skin.“I know I was a bit abrasive with you about what you did with Fisher, and I’m sorry, I should’ve handled it on my ow-“

“It’s not that, Clarke,”Bellamy interrupted gently, setting aside his carving.“It’s not anything you did.”

Clarke leaned towards him, her brows furrowed.“Then what happened?”

Bellamy’s hands twitched every so slightly.“When I saw you hurting and crying by the stream, and I found out who did it,” he let out a low breath. “I was angry. I had this rage just building up inside me.Felt like I could almost explode.” The edge of his mouth pulled painfully.“I hate that part of me. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Clarke moved closer, her hand nearly brushing his on the blanket.“Bellamy, I know how you can be, but it’s that passion you have that makes you a good leader.Nothing you do could scare me, because I know you’d never hurt me.”She lowered her head, trying to find his gaze again.“Bellamy, I trust you.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, staring at his own hands for a moment, then leaning forward till his forearms rested on his knees.The distance between them shrank like shadows under the sun. “First time you got that thorny scratch on your cheek, it just felt natural for me to check it.Then it just became habit and I thought … I just thought doing that every night in front of everyone … no one would _fuck_ with you.” He rubbed his jaw roughly.“Then one of them did, made me realize that my gestures were jackshit.” 

“I certainly didn’t think they were jackshit,” Clarke said firmly, letting her fingertips brush over his knuckles.She let out a silent sigh of relief when his palm curled over hers.“But why was it so important that no one fucked with me? Cause I’m the medic?”She smiled, a following joke slipping easily from her lips.“It’s not cause I’m your girl, is it?” 

Bellamy’s lips quirked up, and his eyes were warm but serious.“The first reason, yes… the second, perhaps?”

“Perhaps?” Clarke tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

Bellamy shrugged.“You’re my girl. Didn’t want anyone fucking with you.”

She scoffed. “No, Bellamy, your _girls_ are on a rotation to your tent every night. I’m not one of them.” 

Bellamy actually seemed annoyed.He shook his head and muttered, “You’re sharp as a knife and still don’t see it.”

At Clarke’s unsure expression, he dropped another low curse.“Have you seen anyone visit my tent since I started checking on you each night?”

She shook her head, and Bellamy raised his eyebrows, cheeks fully pink.He drew a pattern in the air as if connecting dots in a constellation. Clarke let out a small laugh.

“Wait… really?”

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck.“Yeah.”

“You never said anything!”She squeezed his hand incredulously. 

“I thought I was being obvious,” he muttered, flush deepening.“And I didn’t want — didn’t want to come on too strong and push into something you didn’t want.”

Clarke sighed, shaking her head. “Bellamy Blake… what am I going to do with you?”

He gave a small smile. “I can think of a few things.”

“Oh?” she asked, brow raised, sitting up on her knees till they were eye level.“Do those things involve me staying here for the night?”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes growing ever so darker.“I mean, yeah, if you—“

“Oh you silly man,” she murmured, leaning forward to press her mouth onto his. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks.”

“Stars,” he said gruffly, returning her kiss with ardent affection.“You do so much damn talking, could’ve mentioned that too.”

“Didn’t think I was your type,” she replied, brushing her lips against the faint scruff on his jaw. Bellamy chuckled low, catching her hands in his as he leaned away.His eyes were warm and fond.

“Lot of girls here just do the bare minimum and then go sun themselves at the lake.Not you though —“ he raised her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Hiking miles for a few leaves so one less person grumbles about their pain.” 

He looked up and traced his fingertips over the fringe of her hair. The softness of his gaze put a quiver in her lower lip, so Clarke put her hands on his shoulders and climbed into his lap, much like their riverside embrace.

Only this time, she kissed as many of his freckles as she could find, letting out quiet, pleasured sounds as his touch crested up her legs and across her hips.

He was gentle, so so gentle, and she adored him for it.Beneath that softness however, she could feel tension, waves of passion being held in check. _Soon_ , she promised silently with a slight tug on his bottom lip.The groan he released in response ignited warmthin her core, coals stoked back to blazing life.

“It’s you,” she murmured into his skin, not ready for the three words that would send this moment down a more serious path.“It’s only you that I want.” 

He laid her down on his pillows and blankets. She shrugged off her outer layers and unhooked her bra, the months-worn elastic threatening to snap. 

“You have to know,” he rasped, biting gently at the soft skin between her shoulder and the swell of her breast.“if you wanted him dead…”

“I know,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his hair. “I know, Bellamy.”

She wasn’t ready for sex that first night, but she did hold Bellamy, and he held her,skin against skin under the furs.As it grew hot, she kicked the fur away and fell asleep with her fingertips pressed to the valley between his shoulder blades, and his lips ghosting over her heartbeat. 

* * *

Things fell back into normalcy during the daylight hours of camp, albeit with a few exciting changes.She mended, she administered care, she hiked into the woods and returned covered in thorny scrapes.Her tent was still most comfortable, and it did seem odd at first to invite Bellamy in for more than simple talk, but the following happiness was overwhelming. 

Of course, his tent had the better bed. The pillows with his scent seemed more like a second, stronger home as days passed.After a week of sneaking around, they gave up the charade of pretending they weren’t falling asleep in each other’s arms every night. 

Bellamy returned to his evening campfire caress of Clarke’s face, but more often than not, it was accompanied by a kiss to her forehead.That affection sent whistles flying from a few onlookers.Some of the girls cooed, others glowered, but the smirk on Well’s face reassured Clarke, saying without words, “ _about damn time_ ”.

The Bellamy she saw alone in the safe nestle of his (their?) tent, the one whom she had only caught glimpses of before, he’s _adorable_.His moody gruffness fell away to softened, amused grumpiness.He squinted when he read in bed, leading Clarke to realize that he probably needed reading glasses, if they could ever find any.His withheld chuckle transformed into a warm laugh, an un-masculine giggle if she started tickling him right below the arms.And his smile grew tenfold, revealing dimples in his cheeks and soft crinkles around his eyes. 

Then there’s the sex.

Clarke had figured that Bellamy couldn’t be _that_ bad in bed, considering his revolving tent entrance and repeated guests all those months ago.Somewhere in the back of her head, she feared her considerably shorter breadth of experience would cause friction between them.Such worries evaporated almost instantly. 

Bellamy took his time kissing her, his lips pressed to her temple, cheeks, mouth, with his fingertips roaming her hair.He kept their fiery spark burning, despite the slow pace. _Savoring the pleasure_ , she realized.It wasn’t a matter of only wanting sex, he wanted _her_ , and for the foreseeable future at that. 

She swore as he puts his hands and lips to her skin, and oh his tongue was _sinfully_ good on the tips of her breasts.The attention he lavished on her stomach made her reconsider her habit of clenching it in whenever she left her tent.Not that she _needed_ his approval to feel good about herself, though the added affection did boost her confidence.

Their first time occurred after a moonshine evening.Both of them a cup or two in, they tripped into their tent and doffed clothes with bubbling laughter and kisses. When they were nude and breathless under the blankets, Bellamy rumbled a “do you, do you want—“

Clarke replied by rolling over to straddle him, sinking down when the length of him was hard enough to bob against her clit.The stretch stole her voice — he’s more endowed than all previous partners — but the groan Bellamy released sent endorphins flowing through her blood. She hauled him up for a kiss, slow, sweetrocking, his face buried in her hair.He made her come twice before hastening to an unsteady rhythm.Then he gasped and stuttered, quivering for a few moments, finally falling back onto the pillows with Clarke in his arms. 

As the sweat cooled, she shifted herself to lay beside him.Hardly a minute passed before Bellamy rolled over, kissed her navel, then disappeared between her thighs and _stars_ …

She blinked through the misty bliss of her fourth (fifth?) orgasm and chuckled at the brief memory of gossiping teenage girls back on the Ark assuring her that all men were terrible at pleasuring women. _Not this one_ , she thought as she returned the favor before their second round, smiling at the sounds wracked from deep in Bellamy’s chest.

______

They began taking more scout patrols together, leaving the camp in the capable hands of Wells and Harper. Bellamy showed Clarke how to track rabbits and other game through the foliage.She in turn pointed out various plants, herbs, and the poisonous leaves to avoid. 

On a walk about a mile from camp,Bellamy spotted a cardinal, bright red in the green-gray leaves.“Look at him,” he gestured, “Prettiest sight in the woods.”

Clarke rounded on him in a second, raising a brow.“Did you just say a bird is the prettiest?” Bellamy grinned, taking two strides to put his hands to her hips.Clarke’s hands went right to his jacket as she kissed him. 

What happened next wasn’t anyone’s fault; Bellamy still had a bit of forward momentum, and Clarke was standing only a foot from a wide oak.When he took one step further and pressed her against the tree, everything froze.It was the sensation of the rough bark on her back that sent the daylight fading in her mind, darling into a nighttime memory — flickering, distant campfire, low sneers, sour breath, tight hands, **_can’tbreathe can’tbreathe_** —

Bellamy felt her stiffen and backed up, dropping his hands.“You alright?” He asked, brow creased.Clarke nodded shakily, stepping away from the oak.

“I’ll be okay, just …. It was the tree, that-that made me remember, I didn’t realize…”

Bellamy nodded, not needing any more clarification. “Right,” he exhaled, “we’ll avoid that.” They walked towards the trails where the trees were smaller and sparse, but the unsteady feeling was slow to leave Clarke’s chest.“Besides,” Bellamy added, lips wryly curved upward, “it’s undignified behavior, out in the open like that.”

Clarke managed to laugh, shaking her head.She reached for his hand.He interlaced his fingertips with hers, regaling her with hunting stories until the camp came back into sight.By the time the tent had been zipped shut behind them, Clarke was finally able to breathe with ease.

* * *

The afternoon moment in the forest lingered with her, but not troublingly.Clarke had always liked that dynamic, dominant streak in Bellamy, liked the peak of their passionate affairs, when he’s holding her so tightly and thrusting so hard that all else blurred into nothingness.

And his hands, she hasn’t forgotten those hands. 

She traced her own fingertips on the sides of her neck, down to her collarbone.It wasn’t a fantasy of Bellamy choking or harming her, but she wanted to feel his hand just …. _there_.

Could this fixation have been an aftereffect of what had happened with— _No_ , she firmly decided, pushing the thought away.The notion of having a hand on her throat was vaguely present in other romantic encounters, but she knew her previous partners weren’t bold ( _kinky_ , she concedes to herself) enough for the idea. 

So on a quiet evening, alone in his tent, she broached the subject.“There’s something I want to try.”Pause, then she added, “Not that our sex life needs spicing up. Stars, it’s amazing.”

Bellamy’s eyes warmed, and he chuckled.“Certainly is.What is it?” he asked mildly, as if it’s a simple matter of switching positions.Clarke hesitated, then put her hand carefully under her chin, thumb and forefinger aligned below her jawline. The humor evaporated from Bellamy’s face.

“Not squeezing really hard, not like that,” she said quickly, but his grimace remained. She dropped her hand. “Sorry, forget that, you hate the idea.”

“No, it’s not that,”he cut her off gently.She noticed how dark his eyes had grown, the rich brown impossibly deeper. 

“You’d … like that?”

Bellamy stared at his hands and exhaled harshly.“I mean … the touch is part of it, but you trusting me to do that…” he breathed out a curse.“ _Fuck_ , Clarke.”

She nodded, heat starting to flicker low in her stomach.“It’s weird, but I’ve realized now that a lot of things in life are weird, and I just want to test it without freaking out and making you hate yourself.”

Bellamy took her hands in his, idly tracing the lines spanning her palm. “There is …” he shook his head.“No, if I make you relapse, you’re right, I’d hate myself.”

“What?”

He paused.“Have you ever used a safe word?”

Clarke knit her brow. “N-no?”

Bellamy sighed.“Some people prefer it to saying _stop_ or pushing away, there’s less risk of misunderstanding.”

Clarke cocked her head. “You say a word and I …” 

“ _You_ say the word if I go too far,” he corrected.Clarke raised her brows.

“Oh…alright.”

His hand traveled up her wrist, grazing her bare arm.“I’ve been on both ends of using a word— not many times, but enough to know,” he continued, his eyes fixed on her skin. “It’s how you stay in control, even when it seems like you’re not.”

Clarke swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “You’ll seem in control?”

Bellamy looked at her, gaze hot.“Do you want me to?”

Her core spasmed, memories of him worked up, riled up, _having her._

“Yes,” she swore, laying down at he hovers over her.

“Before we try this,” he said, tone thick with caution, “If you feel yourself starting to slip away, you have to tell me.”

“I will,” Clarke assured him.

He relaxed, murmuring his reply into her cleavage.“Choose a word then, babe.”

Clarke gasped and shut her eyes.A word, a word she wouldn’t say during sex, a word she hardly ever used.“Galaxy,” she stammered. 

Bellamy rose from the spot where his teeth had been teasing her shoulder.“Galaxy?” She nodded, and he smiled. “Smart choice.”

He pulled off her henley, leaving her clad in a bra and shorts.Clarke sated her arousal with long, searing kisses as she raked Bellamy’s shirt off his back. When her heart pounded almost painfully, she turned her head to breathe.

“So you’ll fuck me senseless,” she inhaled, “and you’ll stop whatever you’re doing if I say galaxy.”

Bellamy paused even before the last syllable left her lips, raising himself on his forearms.His gaze bore down at her with lust-flooded eyes. “Yes,” his demeanor shifted ever so slightly, looking like he wanted to devour her.He cupped his palm on her cheek. “What’s our word?”

“Galaxy.”

A feral grin. “Good girl.”

_Fuck_ , the speed at which he ripped off her shorts and bra sent anticipation dripping down her thighs.Gone was the earlier restraint she used to feel, clutching his arms during their lovemaking.In its place was pure strength, _Bellamy’s strength_ , and she arched against him.

“That’s it Clarke,” he murmured, voice sunk an octave lower. “Look at you being so good for me.”He put pressure in a relentless rhythm on her clit.“I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Clarke drank his words like wine, rushing to pull the rest of his clothes off him. 

“You’re soaked, baby,” he groaned, two fingers pressed in. “We’ve barely started.”

“Of course,” she breathed out, “you’re mine.”

Bellamy let out a laugh.“Yeah, I am.”He crushed her into the plush furs and palmed himself.“And you’re mine, you’re my girl.”

“I’m your girl,” she said, gasping as he entered.Bellamy swore low.

“Perfect,” his voice is ragged, hands coming back up to span her skin, “fucking perfect, so soft and warm, babe.”

The ripples of bliss emerged, but something twinged deep when he was fully seated. Clarke tried to ignore the pinch, but it persisted.Bellamy was heavy against her chest.

“Wait,” she winced, shifting her hips underneath him to no avail.She scrunched her eyes. “Galaxy.”

The weight lifted immediately, and Bellamy’s hands were there, squeezing her own.He pulled his hips away, face creased in concern yet again. 

“What was it?”

“Nothing, it was the angle.” Clarke kissed him slowly as the pain dissipated. She moved to the open space in the furs and tugged him to curl behind her back.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing her neck.“This okay?”

She hummed, spreading leisurely. “It’s perfect.”

His hardness came between her parted thighs and brushed against her clit.She moaned, reaching down to press him tighter. 

“Oh _fuck_ , Clarke,” Bellamy nearly whined as she arched again, “Like this?”

“Please fuck me like this,” she stuttered.

“Stars, you’re drenching me,” he muttered as he sunk in effortlessly.Clarke bit her lip and canted her hips. _Much better._

Bellamy brought his hand to her hip, squeezing the ample flesh. “Skin’s so damn baby soft.”

Clarke smiled.“You said that.”

“I’ll keep saying it,” he sounded amused.“I’ll never get tired of this.”

His right hand came from below the pillow and toyed with her breast, fondling and kneading.His fingertips crept up her décolletage. Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.A sense of calm washed over as his hand settled on her throat. Warm and soft, his fingers splayed ever so slightly. The sensation shot down her spine, clenching in her core. Her lips parted with a groan.

Bellamy’s breath grew unsteady.The hand on her hip gripped tightly as his efforts doubled, rough in contrast to the gentle, featherlight touch on her neck. 

“Oh, Bellamy,” she hummed, knowing he’d feel the vibrations under his hand, “it feels so good.”

“Yeah,” his voice was strained. “It does.”He swore as he let go of her hip to massage her clit.“I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Clarke felt the telltale burn in her legs, so she pulled his right hand down to wrap around her waist.

“Let go babe, I’m right there I’m— oh…“

He followed her through the orgasm’s riptide, the fringe of his hair falling over her shoulder. His arms remained locked, only easing slightly for him to withdraw achingly.Euphoria buzzed under Clarke’s skin despite the exhaustion seeping in. 

“You are incredible,” declared Bellamy, nuzzling into her skin as they snuggled deeper into the furs.Clarke basked in his comfort, drawing nonsensical patterns across his chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“Helping me, I needed to know that no matter what happens, I’m not …” she paused, biting her lip. “Nothing can… ruin me, or what I enjoy.”

“Nothing ever will,” he promised, caressing her hairline. “I’ll be here, nothing will fuck with you, babe.”

She looked at him with wide eyes.“Bellamy Blake, what do I have to do to keep you forever.”

His smile was lazy, full of love. “Just be yourself, Clarke Griffin.”

He kept her in his embrace for the next few minutes, leaving only for a damp rag for their legs, and water for both of them to drink.In the morning, they’ll have to address a never-ending list of dropship matters, from food rationing, to shift disputes, to keeping tabs on the degenerates slowly drifting further away from the camp.

But for right now,falling asleep is safe, soft and warm, as Clarke rests her head over Bellamy’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good ol' classic dropship smut. What a shame that the show got cut off after 4 seasons. Oh well, perhaps it's for the best! 
> 
> Not sure how many of these fics I have left to write, could be 2, could be 5, I'll probably take a break to write another pairing. 
> 
> I actually have a couple of HS AU's left... do people still read those? please let me know. 
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts on this piece, since I know some parts were overly worded for My Own Indulgence. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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